


lover, tell me if you can

by interstiellar



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, I Completely Ignore Pathfinder Mechanics, Japan Arc (Rusty Quill Gaming), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Shield Other is a spell that can actually be so personal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no beta we die like romans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27615605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstiellar/pseuds/interstiellar
Summary: Zolf is not proposing. (He definitely isn't.)
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	lover, tell me if you can

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shield Other (V, S, F)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450224) by [makesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime). 



> This is inspired by the lovely makesometime's fic that continues to live in my mind rent free. I've had this idea on the back burner for months and I'm so glad to have had time to work on it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
>  _Lover, tell me if you can_  
>  _Who's gonna buy the wedding bands?_  
>  \- Wedding Song, Hadestown

They've only been together for a few months when Zolf slides the ring box on Oscar's desk.

Oscar has barely even looked at it, much less registered what it was, before Zolf hurriedly explains, "It's not what you think it is."

The box is as big as the palm of his hand and lined with dark blue velvet. There's nothing on the lid nor the sides to indicate its contents, no fancy embellishments nor careful lettering. It sits there on the desk, inconspicuous amongst the heaps of paper and scattered quills. 

“Have you brought me a present?” Oscar says teasingly, gracing Zolf with a playful smirk. “Am I supposed to guess?”

Zolf easily returns the smile, though Oscar notes the nervous shuffle of his feet with interest. “Be surprised if you get it right. Go on then, open it.” 

“Darling, you’re no fun.” Oscar gives him an exaggerated moue of disappointment. This quickly vanishes, however, and is replaced with a silent ‘o’ of surprise as he lifts the box open to reveal a pair of plain platinum rings. 

"They're magical. Got them last time I was out. I can cast the protective spell and take half the damage from the other wearer." Zolf awkwardly gestures towards Oscar's feet and continues, "Dunno if they'd work with the cuffs, but I figure if you're ever out in the field with me... Well." 

He looks to Oscar, waiting for him to say something, but the bard's eyes are locked on the rings. A familiar curl of anxiety starts up in his stomach. He’s been having them for weeks now, ever since he took the rings home and had promptly hidden them inside his bedside drawer. On nights he finds it difficult to sleep, he’s taken to turning the box in his hands in contemplation before retiring to bed. 

"Look, it was just an idea alright? You don't have to wear it. Not even sure if they'd work-" He moves to shut the lid close, but is stopped by a hand on top of his.

"Zolf."

Oscar is now looking at him, mouth curving into a soft smile. 

A tell-tale warmth engulfs him then, starting from a point in his chest and spreading liquid-smooth over his entire body. He’s always been weak to that smile, identical to the one Oscar had thrown him during that last stilted conversation when Zolf was stumbling through long due confessions. It’s the one he’d felt pressed up against his lips during that very first kiss, sweet and slow and just that touch of wondrous joy. 

"I'm not proposing." He blurts out in a panic, ears turning red. "That would be ridiculous. If that’s why you’re hesitating."

Zolf really doesn’t want to explain that he’d thought they were a nice romantic gesture on how he values Oscar’s well-being and would gladly take a portion of his pain. In sickness and in health, as it were. 

It’s not a proposal though. Definitely not.

Oscar's smile curls up higher, and Zolf could swear his eyes are a bit glassy.

“I’m not,” Oscar replies, squeezing Zolf’s hand in reassurance. “I’d gladly wear it.”

Clearing his throat, Zolf replies a little gruffly, “Great. That’s… that’s great.” 

“Would you…” Oscar hesitates, taking a nervous swallow. “Would you put it on me?”

Oh. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course.” Zolf gathers what remains of his wits and takes a ring from the box. The metal is smooth and cool to the touch. He fidgets with it for a second, wondering which hand he should put it on before Oscar offers his left. 

Zolf takes the proffered hand and gently nudges his ring finger up, easing the platinum band over it. There’s a gentle push back over the knuckle before the ring magically grows in diameter and Zolf presses forward, sliding it home.

Oscar shivers almost imperceptibly, flexing his hand a couple of times to seemingly get used to the added weight on his finger. “Lovely.” He murmurs thickly, before reaching for the other pair. “May I?” He asks, looking to Zolf almost shyly. 

Nodding, Zolf extends his left hand, splaying his fingers for Oscar to slip the ring into. As with Oscar, the ring transmutes to accommodate the width of his finger until it’s nestled snugly at the base. It feels just like any other ring he’s worn, other than the fact that this one is heavy with implications they can’t yet say aloud. 

“There.” Oscar lifts his hand and brushes a kiss on Zolf’s ring. “Thank you. You didn’t have to, you know. I can take care of myself, contrary to popular belief.”

“I can’t hear you above the sound of me shouting when I found you passed out on your desk last week.”

Oscar scowls at this. “You know what I mean.”

He does, of course. Knows that Oscar is more than capable of wielding a knife, even if his hand-to-hand combat leaves much to be desired. Knows that his wit and wile had pulled them out of more scrapes than he could count. He sighs, moving his hand to cradle Oscar’s cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “I know. I wanted to. I like taking care of you.”

There are no words for the deep sense of satisfaction Zolf feels when he sees Oscar sigh in contentment, visibly losing the tension set deep into his shoulders. The bleary-eyed look he gives him after a long night’s rest when he’s newly awoken and disoriented, reaching out to Zolf for a cuddle and mumbling about five more minutes. The clean and empty plate he takes away after a shared meal. 

Oscar leans into the touch, eyes slipping close for a moment before they flicker open with pointed mischief. “You say you’ve had this since the last time you went out? Wasn’t that weeks-”

Zolf groans and takes his hand away before striding towards the door, Oscar’s laughter ringing behind him. He’s sure that if he turns around the bard would see the blush coming back full force on his face.

“Oh Zolf, if you wanted to put a ring on me you could have just asked.”

“Shut up, Oscar.”

* * *

When everyone is healed as much as they could be at the moment, Oscar finds Zolf sitting amongst the rubble, staring out into the distance as the first hints of red-gold color the sky. He settles down beside him, wincing slightly at the small bits of rock and dirt that dig into his skin. They share a quiet moment, still not quite believing that the battle is won, that it's over, that the world is saved. Then, in what is clearly meant to convey an air of nonchalance (though it misses the mark by a few degrees), Oscar says, "I was thinking of a cottage somewhere in the country."

Zolf turns to face him, raising an eyebrow in silent question though Oscar steadfastly keeps his eyes on the rising sun. He takes a small, steadying breath and continues, "Not too small, I'm sure we would both appreciate the space. I'd need an office of course, and we'd make sure you'd have a well-built kitchen. A parlor to entertain guests, and a study filled with bookshelves. Somewhere by the sea, do you think? But close enough to a town. Would you like to keep a garden? I confess I've never been much for manual labor but the appeal is certainly-" 

"Oscar."

Finally, Oscar turns to meet his eyes, giving him a shaky smile. "Is that a 'no' on the garden?"

"What."

Oscar reaches for Zolf's hand, tangling their fingers together. His hand has a slight tremble to it until Zolf grips him back, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

"A home, Zolf. For us."

He sees an array of emotions cross Zolf's face and waits patiently for an answer. The cleric gives a few false starts, opening and closing his mouth in quick succession before he manages to croak out, "I haven't proposed."

Oscar brings their hands up and turns it this way and that, admiring the glint of sunlight as it catches on Zolf’s ring. He says simply, "In not as many words, yes. But you got us the rings. It seems only fair I be the one to ask, as it were." 

“Oscar.” Zolf breathes out in awe and disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Is that a yes?”

Zolf tugs him forward by their linked hands so that Oscar’s almost sprawled on his lap. When he steadies himself, he finds that their faces are inches away. Zolf is looking at him with what can only be described as adoration. It still overcomes him sometimes, to be the object of so much love, to have his own returned fiercely and with a purpose that took them past the end of the world. 

“Ask me.” Zolf murmurs, soft and expectant. 

Oscar licks his lip, his heart beating out a steady thrum. The sun has fully risen now, casting them in its warm, golden glow. The breeze carries the faint sounds of birdsong, their joyous melody accompanying the start of a new day. Just a few feet from them are their friends, exhausted but giddy with relief over their hard-earned triumph. Oscar knows that there is still work to be done, reports to write, briefings to give, perhaps more orders to receive to start rebuilding this world they've nearly lost. He and Zolf can have this though, this sliver of time for themselves to grasp and shape the future they’ve fought for so dearly. 

To another adventure, Oscar thinks. 

“Zolf Smith. Would you care to build and tend a home with me and everything else that entails, garden or no, for as long as we both shall live?"

Zolf gives him a grin that splits his face wide open, joy etched on every line around his eyes and mouth. He replies clearly and with a deep certainty, "Yes.”

Oscar feels his own broadening smile. "Yes?"

"Yes, of bloody course, yes. And yes about the garden as well, for the record.”

Oscar abruptly leans forward, circling his arms around Zolf’s neck, one hand resting on the back of his head as the force of his embrace topples them both to the ground. Zolf’s arms wrap around his waist, yelling out an aborted “Oscar, wait-” before he’s lying flat on his back with a mouthful of Oscar's silken locks. He brushes them away, tucking them behind Oscar’s ear as the bard tightens his hold and presses his face firmly to the crook of Zolf’s neck. Zolf gives a short, amused chuckle and Oscar turns his head to look curiously at him.

"What is it?"

"Just picturing us as a pair of grumpy old men."

Oscar smiles at the mental image though he gives a faux affronted gasp. "I'll have you know I'd make a charming silver fox."

Zolf snorts. "I've seen you in the mornings."

Oscar gives a soft sigh in reply, contentment coursing through the entirety of his body, lighting up his nerves in anticipation of their shared future. "And we'll have more of them together, for the rest of our lives in fact."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay gang, in light of recent events which idea is more heartbreaking: (a) Wilde had the ring on when he fell but Zolf didn't see him fall, (b) Zolf has had the pair of rings in his pocket for ages and he thought he lost the chance to give it to him. Ignore the cuffs in both scenarios.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
